


Fairweather Friends

by Ilthit



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thieves, Blackmail, Burglary, Criminal Not Sorry, Gen, Missing Scene, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24250141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/pseuds/Ilthit
Summary: Drawlight entreats Lascelles to help him out on a little caper. Raffles-inspired gentlemen thieves' AU.
Kudos: 3
Collections: Banned Banned Together Bingo 2020, Banned Together Bingo 2020, Trope Bingo: Round Thirteen





	Fairweather Friends

"The hounds are baying at the door, are they?" asked Lascelles, a touch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. For all he had been a good friend to me—the very best of friends, at a time I very much needed one—I admit sometimes he was rather too fond of his own cleverness, and no doubt it brought him some joy to know I was once again in a financial predicament, while his own coffers overflowed. Nonetheless I smiled my sweetest smile. "It is rather costly these days to keep a gentleman suitably attired. Mr Brummell—"

Lascelles blew a puff of air out through his nose. "Oh, do not talk to me about Beau Brummell." The famous dandy was his neighbour, and there was no love lost between them. Brummell was even better connected and dressed than Lascelles, entertained frequently and had the ear of Prinny himself. The inescapable conclusion was that Lascelles felt somewhat outdone. As connections go, the First Magician of England was exciting, to be sure, but not quite on par with the Prince of Wales.

Having thus exchanged my own barb for his, I got to the business at hand. "I have got a hold of something possibly interesting. I heard at Lady C--'s bridge evening that a Polish royal is visiting London _incognito_. It was intended to be a complete secret—"

"What's a Polish prince these days?" my friend cut in impatiently. I could see his eye already straying towards the work from which I had distracted him, a stack of tedious papers in Mr Norrell's hand. They lay across his thighs now as he sat, ankles crossed, on the sofa of his drawing room, which he had apparently converted into an extension of his study. "A fading memory. Poland has been partitioned and will disappear in due time, as other countries have before it."

"What is a Polish prince, you ask? Very wealthy," I said. "I hear he has brought his lady with him and she all her jewelry—or some very choice items, at least—and he is bound to carry many items of masculine adornment. I can only imagine what their spending allowance is. Ousted or not, the royals find ways to hold on to a few things, you know."

"Some do," said Lascelles, another criticism. It stung. "Drawlight, I am busy. Far too busy for one of our old larks. The estate is churning out a creditable income since I installed a new man as a my manager. My expenditures are not what they once were, and as you know, my uncle's inheritance gives me another seven thousand pounds a year. Why should I waste my time and risk my reputation for a Polish prince's baubles?"

"For old times' sake?" I sat down heavily on the settee, my walking stick bouncing off the floor. I knew he meant it, but I was not yet ready to give the notion up. All those jewels! "Lascelles, I am at my wits' end, and I simply cannot do this on my own. It is work for two men, as you might have said once yourself, and I do not have the _entrée_ you do. He is staying with the Harringtons of Half Moon Street, and the Harringons, as you know…"

"Rather detest you for that incident involving their daughter's engagement. I know."

I sensed danger in his gaze now. Lascelles had a hot temper, for all he prided himself in keeping it under tight control. I had to steer as far as possible from making an outright threat.

We both knew I could choose to reveal the burglaries he and I had committed around the turn of the century, when his debts had momentarily grown pressing and I myself was still seeking my feet, having nothing to recommend myself to society apart from my good looks and exquisite taste. I had only just come into an inheritance a year before, and found, within those twelve moons, just how quickly one can work through two thousand pounds. I had not, then, my current prowess at the card table.

On the brink of ruin, I had allowed port and misery to move me to confession one night after another disastrous round of cards. I only knew my friend then as a wealthy gentleman with a fondness for theatre and a cutting turn of phrase I had sought to emulate at times, and had no reason in the world to choose him as my Father Confessor. Nonetheless, it all came pouring out on that balcony, with morning light already reaching its dreadful fingers across the horizon.

Lascelles had a plan, he said, and the following evening, without so much as telling me what we were about to do, he took me to another crowded soirée and gave me a series of simple instructions. I still do not know how he slipped away and upstairs into the hosts' private rooms. I only know we left early, barely past 1 pm, and in his rooms he showed me the diamond necklace and tiara that were to save me from my latest debt.

He disliked the sale of such items, he told me, and advised me on where and when and in what attire to make contact with the shady personage with whom to negotiate for their translation into cash. And thus began my wider education in all levels of society—from the silks and pearls of Almack's to the lowest dives in the harbour, and the coffers of corrupt Liverpool. He would procure the goods, more often than not, and I would turn them into funds.

I used to think he must be terribly clever to never be caught. I now think it had more to do with rank and gall. It isn't that Lascelles is unintelligent. He simply has a narrow education, and would not survive very long in many of those low places he so despises.

I dare say the two of us benefited one another greatly for a while, until, as he said, an inheritance lifted Lascelles up somewhat. Even then we continued for a while, for the thrill of it, and perhaps because Lascelles still loved all beautiful things, and hated, as all wealthy people do, to live above his income.

We could each ruin the other, were one of us to tell what he knew, but Lascelles had more to lose than I. Apart from our mutual friendship with Mr Norrell and some similarity of other interests, it had been the tie that had bound us all these years. I was loathe to let it fracture.

I refused to let my smile falter under his gaze. Eventually he tutted. "I'm afraid I have no inclination to join you on this venture, sir. Find some other way." He picked up his stack of papers, a clear dismissal.

"Very well," I said, hurt, picked up my hat and stick, and stood. "I shall."

I picked through his letter tray on the way out. It had been my policy to avoid interfering with my friend's connections without his knowledge, but I sensed such generosity was behind us now. Three of the letters were from a Mrs Bullworth.

I would find a way, indeed.


End file.
